


Bring the Cup to My Lips with Greed

by itstonedme



Series: Haremverse [3]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-17
Updated: 2009-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstonedme/pseuds/itstonedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night runs its course in leisure and libation.  Follows The Grains of Paradise and The Gilded Cage. Note: About two thirds of the way into this story, there is a dance.  This dance is not strictly Middle Eastern belly dancing as practiced by some men, but more a fusion of Indian, Japanese and Arabic influences. as seen in this far-too-short and really <i>hot</i> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uyOvHgP3zK8">little video</a>.</p>
<p>First posted on LJ <a href="http://itstonedme.livejournal.com/14939.html#cutid1">here</a> with reader comments.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: A work of fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring the Cup to My Lips with Greed

_I brought the cup to my lips with greed_  
Begging for longevity, my temporal need  
Cup brought its to mine, its secret did feed  
Time never returns, drink, of this take heed. 

From _The Rubiayat_ by Omar Khayyam

~ 

 

"I believe you have had too much wine."

"I believe I have too." 

Elijah rests his neck against the cool marble edge of the palace pool, warm waters lapping against him, and closes his eyes. A lover's arms embrace him, wine-scented words wash over him. And everywhere, the world is floating, for Elijah envisions that he and Orlando lie upon a cloud high above the earth, replete beyond all measure in each other's company. In the morning, after they have awaited the dawn slaking their desire for one another, they will alight from the heavens to find themselves in Kathmandu, perhaps elsewhere, and they will break their fast on date-plums and goat's milk and honeyed almonds while slim-eyed children in fur hats laugh and point at their strange guests. He smiles at the prospect of such an adventure with his prince and drifts further in languorous thought. 

Orlando lifts a cupped palm of water and anoints his forehead. "You are a pretty thing when you are drunk," he murmurs, fingers tracing the streamlets disappearing into the ebony gloss of Elijah's scalp.

"Not as pretty as you." 

Orlando's eyebrows arch. "Pretty?" he questions, and Elijah hiccups and giggles, the cloud bouncing beneath him. "I am _handsome_ ," Orlando asserts with pompous embellishment, eyes dancing in the torchlight. "One might even say beautiful." His smile widens as Elijah opens one eye, brows drawing together.

"Yes," Elijah concurs. "I would surely vouchsafe for the magnificence of your beauty even though, with all respect to my prince, your pride might be shameless. And yet, I still find you pretty, and perhaps a little drunk as well."

Orlando nudges Elijah's chin with his bearded one. "Impudence," he murmurs and his lips descend gently to the swirl and dance of tongues. 

The night has reached its zenith, and even the night song of insects has stilled. All that echoes around them in the open air is water licking at the edges of the pool and the slick wetness of kisses being exchanged. Elijah tips back a little more, and his hips float up from the pool's stone floor to break the water's surface. 

Orlando turns from Elijah's mouth, away from the tongue that slides along his cheek to his temple, and gazes across the water-beaded torso bobbing in the waters, its nipples drawing tight in the night air. "Ohhhh," he exclaims at the glistening pubis beyond. He inches down and kisses Elijah sternum. "Look how the serpent rises from its lair to tempt the innocent." 

A snicker erupts from the chest his ear rests against.

Orlando's hand creeps along Elijah's hip towards the flaccid cock, which slumbers too peaceably to know the mischief it has invited. "Before it can stir and writhe within its nest, it must be subdued," Orlando contemplates to the empty night. 

Elijah's mirth begins to ripple the water around them, and Orlando must slip a hand beneath his buttocks to keep him afloat. 

"A ruse is needed to distract it," Orlando breathes. Beneath Elijah's buttocks, a devilish finger slides along his crease, probing, teasing gently, and Orlando slowly begins to lick his way down Elijah's chest, eyes intent upon his destination. 

Elijah's giggles subside at the same moment he realizes how close Orlando's mouth has descended, and his eyes open in sober alarm at how visible they are to anyone who may be watching. "Orlando," he warns, his hand sliding onto Orlando's shoulder and squeezing. "We may not be alone."

Elijah knows that while the princes of the palace may frolic with impunity, not caring whose knowledge such pastimes find, it is usually done within the harem. As far as he is concerned, he is the musician; his role must be insignificant, both for the sake of prudence as for modesty. It is one matter to cavort naked in wine and song, petting and sharing kisses and much laughter. It is quite another for a prince of the palace to publicly fellate his servant without raising idle talk of no good purpose, especially among those into whose lives Elijah is immersed. 

"My lord!" he persists urgently, for Orlando's mouth is nearing, but it avails him nothing. 

As he curls forward to stop their reckless play, Orlando swallows him in one lightning motion and plunges beneath the waters, taking Elijah's cock and hips to the fathoms like a mythical sea serpent. Elijah splashes about, sinking to his shoulders, then is suddenly silent because his eyes and ears tell him he is all alone. 

But his prick. Sweet God, his prince does shock and delight him in unnatural and unknown ways! What was sleeping but moments before is now leaping to iron strength so sharply that Elijah keeps curling forward, cradling Orlando's submerged head in his lap. Orlando sucks him fiercely, rolling his balls in one large hand, his other arm bracing Elijah's back and buttocks, a finger spearing just inside him. A fire rips through Elijah from navel to knees, and he gasps and groans and shuts his eyes with such violence that salt springs through his lashes. It is too much—too heavenly, too intense – and he rolls away to be free, his cock slipping from the divine heat enveloping it.

Orlando is overpoweringly fast as he breaches the surface, arms wrapping around Elijah so that they kneel one behind the other. "You seek to flee me, my heart?" he chuckles, his thighs bracketing Elijah's, thrusting his hardening cock against them. "Are my attentions too fervent perhaps?" He presses his face into Elijah's neck and licks a long wet stripe.

"Take me to your bed," Elijah pleads. "Let us dry and make haste." His cock bobs out from him, his lust plainly visible. "Please, Orlando. Let us retire to more privacy."

"Your shyness enflames me, your caution excites, do you realize that, Elijah?" Orlando growls, his hand running lightly down to encircle Elijah's cock, gently fondle his balls. "Fear not for your honour or respect; we are quite alone. But your comfort is mine own, so let us be gone before I lose myself completely and take you stretched and pleading against the rim of this pool."

Quickly, they dry and dress in their robes, stepping around two bronze carafes lying emptied of their libations beside the pool, and weave their wine-sotted way through the torchlight corridors of the palace. Orlando follows closely behind Elijah, his hands teasing and groping, and Elijah, for his part, is helpless to deflect them because he holds the zither he had brought to their bathing. He turns as they walk and hisses playfully while Orlando nips the far side of his neck, then the near, and Elijah whispers that, prince or none, he is being vexatious.

When they reach the prince's quarters, Orlando turns away and steps into a small room across the passage hall to nudge, with his foot, the arm of a sleeping youth. "Bring me wine," he says softly as the boy sits up, instantly alert. "But do not wake any others."

Elijah has preceded him into the sleeping chambers and begun to light candles. "I would not need light to know your body," Orlando whispers as he steps up behind him, arms reaching around to gather him close.

"Nor I," Elijah replies. "But we would not want the wine spilled when it arrives, and I would ask a favor once it does." 

"A favor?" Orlando breathes into his hair, pulling Elijah's hips against himself and grinding. 

"Yes." Elijah twists smoothly from Orlando's embrace, turning and grasping Orlando's arms just below the elbows. He steps back a pace, bringing Orlando with him further into the darkness. "A very special favor, my prince, an indulgence, if you would oblige your most respectful servant." His lips curl upwards in the flickering light, the shadows of his eyelashes dancing upon his cheeks.

"I see devilry in that look," Orlando grins but he follows until Elijah is backed against a pillar. 

Elijah turns his face towards balcony. "Smell how the garden scents the night," he whispers.

"You feint," Orlando growls, pressing against Elijah. He hears a footfall and turns to the doorway to address the young servant. "Leave the wine by the wall," he tells the boy. "Return to your bed and sleep well." 

"Wine," Elijah breathes, tilting his lips upwards once they are alone. 

Orlando leans forwards and opens them, tasting and sampling, then steps back. "What demon have I released this night?" he muses, and Elijah giggles, high and childlike and, to Orlando, with utter charm. "Then you shall have wine, my heart, although your breath is a sweet vineyard as is."

The prince's rooms are known to Elijah, for he has spent many hours there being read to or playing music or engaged in a strategy game, and so it is with cautious assurance that he moves about in the dark while Orlando fills a silver goblet. He emerges from the shadows with a doumbek under one arm, the fingers of both hands making it vibrate like a rolling tongue, liquid and low. Orlando lifts his head and slowly places the carafe on the floor.

"Am I to regret keeping a tablah in my chambers?" he asks.

Elijah begins to walk around him, fingers drumming, eyes as bright as his smile. "I think not," he murmurs.

Orlando turns slowly, following Elijah as he circles. "And why would I not?"

"I have seen you dance," Elijah says. "When you dine with your cousins, and the girls come to dance, I have seen you rise and join them. All praise the prince's movements."

Orlando sips his wine. "Then, as now," he says, "I am too drunk to know where my feet would touch the earth."

"Perhaps _you_ now feint, my prince, for in truth, all who observe would say, 'There is a man of great grace and vigor.'" The roll of the drum ebbs and flows. "They would say, 'There is a man kissed by Terpsichore.'"

Orlando's brows rise, appreciating that Elijah remembers what he has learned of the Grecian Muses.

"Given so many riches, would this prince deny his most ardent servant the pleasure of a dance?" Elijah's fingers beat a little louder.

Orlando holds out the goblet, and Elijah approaches, dipping to sip from it without stopping his drum play. "The wine has freed your tongue tonight, Elijah," Orlando smiles, tilting the cup for him. "What am I to do with you?" 

"Perhaps – first – you are to dance."

Their eyes lock as Elijah taps upon the skin, smiles teasing both their lips, and the silence stretches in the wavering light. 

"Bewitch me!" Elijah finally breathes. 

Orlando drains the goblet, then thrusts it at Elijah. "Take comfort there," he says, indicating the cushions, "but remember, if I am to dance, you are to sing."

Elijah bows, with sincerity. "That is a good trade."

As Orlando sheds his robe on the stone floor and slips past several screens and curtains into the darkness, Elijah takes up the goblet and refills it, taking a draught before drawing back the veils of the bed chamber. He settles on the rugs within, doumbek between his thighs, and begins to play – a slow, easy rhythm with a steady pulse. He closes his eyes, sliding into the pattern of beats. Then, barely there, he hears the snick of metal sliding against metal – once, twice, drawing nearer – and he opens his eyes to see Orlando re-emerge into the firelight.

The prince is stripped to the waist, his hair held back with a headscarf. He wears loose saffron-coloured trousers, their cuffs narrowed above the ankles so that the leggings wrap and billow above leather ankle bracelets beaded with coins. Wide gold armlets circle each upper arm, and in each hand are held ivory-hafted [jambiyas](http://www.oriental-arms.co.il/item.php?id=149), their hilts scrimshawed with intricate patterns. He spins the daggers so that the handles slide across each palm before rolling back into the fingers, over and over, their blades flashing in the candlelight. The play of the daggers is mesmerizing, and frightening.

"Pray, no knives, my lord," Elijah whispers, and his fingers cease beating. "There has been too much wine tonight."

Orlando stills each dagger, then quickly swipes the blades together. He points one towards the drum.

"Play," he orders.

Elijah lowers his eyes and resumes the deliberate, four-beat rhythm, a heart pulse. Orlando begins a slow spin, his arms raised and blades crossed. At a full circle, he lands one foot, ankle coins jangling as he stamps twice, and his arms arc down, blades sharpening against each other before the pivot is repeated and arms raised again. Again, he slowly turns as Elijah beats the drum, knives clashing, his feet slapping the stone floor rhythmically; his head falls back and his eyes close, and he repeats over and over.

"Sing, Elijah," he breathes.

Elijah looks up at a prince lost in his own movement, and he curls over the drum as if it were his lover's back, a wail of heat and hunger ripping from him. 

Orlando drops to his haunches before him, knees splayed, hips pumping to the drum's rhythm, and he sets each dagger softly on the stonework.

"Sing, Elijah," he whispers and folds back, his head nearly touching the floor, hips thrusting. His arms wind upwards like flames, like a snake charmed, twining upwards and falling, falling. Slowly, he sits up, his hands tracing his chest but never touching, arms weaving towards Elijah, as if to draw him in, then back to skim the surface of his body. Not once does he touch himself, and Elijah knows it is for fear of being burned by the heat of his own skin.

Perhaps the gods of this time and place would be vengeful if it were said that Elijah's voice were not their province, that the manner in which Orlando moves his body comes from a source less than divine. Perhaps. But the truth would seem that Orlando's body is the instrument Elijah plays, and that Elijah's voice are the strings that Orlando plucks. For on this night, each feeds the other the ambrosia of desire: the sweet and pulsing passion of the servant spawning the grace and speed of hands and fingers that seem to chase and capture a wild bird, kissing it, releasing it, reclaiming it, offering it up; the bold and earthy movement of the prince setting flame to the droning beat and haunting cry of a man in the throes of carnal discovery. Orlando dances until sweat springs upon his chest and face, and Elijah whips him with his music until his fingers become numb and his throat parched. The world is forgotten, and if the palace is disturbed by the sounds of their music, it serves only to heat the dreams of all who hear. When Orlando finally collapses before him, thighs sprawled and chest heaving, Elijah slowly, cautiously, places the doumbek to one side.

"I would rip you apart if I had the strength," Orlando pants. "I would tear the clothes from your body and the skin from your bones to be inside you."

Elijah's eyes fall closed as he shivers.

Orlando hangs his head, hands loose at his sides. Then, in a frenzy, he reaches out and pulls Elijah into a fierce embrace. "I am your master," he growls.

"Yes," Elijah breathes, offering his mouth.

"I am your slave," Orlando bites out.

"Oh!" Elijah cries, for their desire is the sweetest madness he has ever known. "Then touch me!"

Orlando pulls open Elijah's robe, exposing the hardness waiting for his hand. Once more, he is overwhelmed with how Elijah's sex is perfection: the velvet cock, warm and heavy, the testes tight and compact and ready to burst within his hand. He rolls them, and Elijah grunts and grabs Orlando's hips, the saffron-cotton bunching in his fists, his legs spreading wider. A whine begins in his song-ravaged throat, and he leans in, convulsing against sweat and bone as Orlando's hand creeps up to stroke him.

Orlando's grip is exquisite and Elijah surges with each pull. The wine and song have made him lightheaded, and behind his eyelids, colors spangle in bursts of red and black as blood rushes to his pelvis. Orlando curls over him and leans down to kiss his face, his neck, the back of his shoulder. Their thighs have slid to fit, knees pressing up into groins, a hard surface that they might rock against. Orlando hurriedly pulls at the ties on his trousers, pushing them open and reaches inside to ease himself. 

Elijah tugs on the fabric to pull him closer.

"Fuck," Orlando groans. 

Elijah can only whimper, pushing up onto his knees so that the head of his cock slides through Orlando's hand against the tender skin beside his navel. His breathing is ragged and frenzied, and he bites at the beard beneath Orlando's jaw. 

Orlando grabs Elijah's ass and lifts, knee-walking to the bed, and Elijah has enough wits remaining to wrap his legs around him, his cock trapped against the slick heat of Orlando's stomach. He writhes and thrusts even after they have both collapsed side by side upon the linens.

"Be still, Elijah," Orlando says so that he might disentangle limbs and clothing. But Elijah is possessed of motion and tension, thrusting against Orlando amid desperately soft cries and curses.

"So be it," Orlando sighs but far from unhappily, and he reaches between them and takes both cocks in one large hand. "We will ride together then, my heart." 

He smoothes back Elijah's hair and scoops his head forwards, pushing into his mouth with his tongue and fucking it. He can feel Elijah's release approaching through the staggered breathes against his cheek, the mewling whimpers in his throat, and his hand pulls and squeezes harder on skin made slippery with sweat and the leak of cum. When it comes, he rolls onto Elijah, thrusting hard against the twitching flesh and he pulls his hand away, clutching Elijah’s back, and grinds against skin made slick by release. It is only a moment before his own seed spills in tremors and pulses, and he eases back, gathering Elijah to him. He removes his headscarf to wipe their release before tossing it against the veils.

In the stillness that follows, only their labored breathing fights with the hiss and snap of flame from the torches and candles. 

“How the world has changed in one night," Orlando sighs, petting Elijah's cheek, watching the eyelids fight to stay opened. 

Elijah smiles even as his eyes close.

"Sleep, nightingale," Orlando whispers, and he kisses Elijah's temple and draws a sheet to cover their nakedness. "Let us leave to the dawn any more thoughts of this night."


End file.
